


The Star-Spangled Spanko

by TheMadSlasher



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AEMH!Clint/Steve Is Best Clint/Steve, Both Get A Turn On Top, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bros with Benefits, Cocky!Clint, Community: avengerkink, Encouraging!Steve, Fraternity Paddling, Fraternity Roleplay, Jockstrap Fetish, M/M, Non-Punitive Spanking, Spanking, Steve's A Kinky Bastard, Top Clint Barton, Versatile!Clint, Versatile!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadSlasher/pseuds/TheMadSlasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to "Purple, Red, White, Blue, Purple" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/758275).</p><p>Clint discovers that Steve's porn stash happens to focus on a rather... esoteric... sexual interest. But in the aftermath of this surprise, Clint begins to get a little bit curious about flavors-other-than-vanilla...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was an idea which has been kicking around in my head for a while, but I finally got around to writing it after seeing this prompt at Avengerkink: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16524.html?thread=37707404#t37707404
> 
> This fic took a very long time, partly due to my incessant perfectionism, partly due to my enthusiastic procrastination, but also due in part to the personal significance of this fiction. My version of Steve was partially inspired by a friend of mine who unfortunately passed away a few years ago. As such, I wish to dedicate this fic to his memory. 
> 
> Rest In Peace my friend. This one's for you.
> 
> My gratitude to Carinascott here at AO3 and to Madassa at Y-Gallery for their feedback on and support for this fic.

**The Star-Spangled Spanko**  
 **Part 1**

_I'm noticing a distinct theme here_ the archer thought as he looked through the pile of DVD cases beneath Steve's bed. The titles included "Fratboys Gone Wild," "Pledge Initiation Night" and "Paddling Games." _So Captain Apple Pie really isn't as wholesome as everyone believes_ he thought to himself with a smirk.

"It's not what you think," Steve immediately stammered as he walked into his bedroom in Avengers Mansion. His eyes went wide with horror. "Please Clint I..."

Clint chuckled as he stood up and looked towards the Super Soldier. _His cheeks are redder than the asses on the covers_ he thought to himself as he smirked.  
"Don't worry Rogers," Clint replied. "So you gotta sick little kink," he responded as he walked towards the elder man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're still buds, right?"

Steve remembered that night he shared with Clint after the Purple Man incident. He remembered every night they had shared together since. He smiled in a mixture of relief and gratitude at the younger man's easy acceptance of his... _certain adult materials_.  
"Of course," he replied warmly as his hand clasped Clint's impressive left bicep in a familiar gesture of camaraderie. His blush carefully receded. "Thanks for understanding, Clint."

"No problem old man," the archer responded confidently. "I thought I left a pair of boxers in here three days ago, so I searched. Sorry for finding your porn stash," he concluded with a playful smirk.

Steve's broad chest rumbled with his chuckle. He recalled how three days ago, they were left alone in the mansion. When Steve was working weights, Clint capitalized by coming in and fucking him over the weight bench, thrusting into his ass with each lift he made. After that they sucked each other off in the showers. Finally, Steve buried his shaft in Barton's tight hole as Barton's hands gripped at the sheets of the Captain's bed. _Good times_.  
"Nothing to apologize for, Hawkeye. See you around." He smiled fondly at the younger man.

"Later, buddy," Clint replied before he turned to leave the Captain's room.

The Star Spangled Man couldn't help but notice how the tight jeans hugged Clint's glutes as Barton strode out the doorframe. He felt his pulse quicken as he imagined what Clint's ass would look like framed by a jockstrap and reddened with each swat of the paddle. He quickly closed the door of his room and locked it before he began to undo his own jeans and leaned back against the wall. Steven Rogers felt his manhood harden swiftly as he closed his eyes and let the fantasies take over.

\---

After he had some time to think about it, Clint couldn't help but feel confused. He paced around his room as he pondered.  
 _Why? This is Steve "Don't Be The Perfect Soldier" Rogers we're talking about here. Why would he be into punishment? Is it residual Catholic guilt or something? Every time we fuck he practically recites sonnets about how he loves the fact I'm a stubborn renegade! We told Stark and Fury to shove it when we went after Widow and found HYDRA Island! The prison break he got his commission for was something he staged against orders!_

He suddenly stopped pacing when he realized there was only one way to find out what this was about for Steve without violating his friend's privacy. _Unless Doc Samson has a sexology minor or something_. "Aww, crap," he mumbled to himself. 

But, just like when he and Bobbi and Steve and T'Challa were tracking down HYDRA and Natasha, he had a plan: _the classic ambush_.

\---

A number of days later, Clint walked into the locker room after decimating the shooting range ( _as per usual_ ). He heard the showers running. Casually he stripped his field gear off and threw it in the cleaning basket before moving behind the privacy wall - Steve stood beneath the spray with his chest still heaving.

"Tony's unbreakable punching bag still unbreakable?" Clint asked with a smirk as he turned his own shower on.

"It is," Steve replied with a comfortable smile. "Finally missed a target?" Steve asked unseriously, already knowing the answer.

Clint only chuckled in reply as he let the water run over his body; rivulets streamed down the veiny sinews of his arms and through the spikes of his blond hair. 

It wasn't long before both men were standing before their lockers with towels around their waists. Steve opened his locker and slid on his jockstrap - his preferred underwear - and then spotted the second jock he had placed inside. The second jockstrap was white, clean and new. He then looked towards Clint and fought to prevent any blush from emerging.  
"Just wondering something, Barton," he began softly as he picked up the clean jock and held it behind his back... "would you be willing to wear this for me, soldier?"

Clint smirked mischievously as he watched Steve offer the new garment to him. He noticed the faint blush on the Captain's face. _Bingo..._ he thought as he recognized an opportunity.  
"Hell yeah old man," he responded as he took the item and looked it over for a second. _My size, too_ he noticed as he cavalierly discarded his towel and slid the jockstrap on, granting the elder man ample opportunity to view the goods. His smile grew a little hungrier as he felt the rear straps against his bare ass cheeks. _Now this I can see the appeal of..._

Their lips met immediately as their bodies began to move towards the locker room's bench. Clint felt the pouch of Steve's jockstrap grinding against his own and noticed the pressure increase slowly as the soldier's manhood began to swell underneath. His hands slid over Steve's biceps as he felt his own shaft begin to stir to life. He backed out of the kiss just then and glanced towards the bench; a mischievous spark ignited in his eyes as he returned his gaze to Steve's square-jawed face.  
"Want me to fuck you over the bench, Rogers?"

Steve remained smiling warmly as he replied; "you read my mind, son." With that, his thickly-muscled legs straddled the bench and he lay down on his front. He looked back over his shoulder towards the marksman.  
"You know what to do, Clint. There's some lube in my locker."

Hawkeye's long fingers immediately reached into the Captain's locker and retrieved the tube. As he spread the cool gel over his fingers he made sure to look at Steve's ass; the way Steve's glutes were framed so perfectly by the jockstrap made Clint's mouth water. _The perfect target_ he thought before his slick index finger moved between the elder man's cheeks. 

Steve rolled his eyes back as he felt his hole begin to stretch; he released a groan which echoed off the tiled walls. The first digit was soon joined by another; his grip clenched around the bench's supports as he felt the archer's knuckles grazing ever-so-lightly over his prostate. His breaths grew deeper and rougher as the third finger pressed inside him.  
"Jesus Barton, that's the spot," he exhaled as his manhood began to get almost painfully hard, "I'm ready soldier."

Clint withdrew his fingers from the hot constriction of the elder man's body and smirked as he anticipated those sensations around his cock. He pulled the pouch of his jockstrap aside and let his shaft spring forth. His slickened hand spread the remaining lube over his hardon; his spare hand rested on the soldier's lower back as he moved forward. 

"Christ, yeah!" Steve gasped as Barton's manhood began to press inside him at a measured pace; his teeth clenched and his eyes rolled back as the mingled pleasure and pressure breached his body.  
"That's right son... don't stop..." he continued in an exertion-laced voice as the muscles of his arms, sides, back and legs tensed. 

The sweltering crush around the marksman's shaft seemed only to make his cock harder; the near-aching throb extending from his groin felt more intense with each further inch he sheathed inside the Captain's ass. His steady inward motion continued until every nerve ending in his dick was engulfed. Finally he reached full depth within the elder man.  
"Fucking hell Rogers," Barton hissed, "feels so good every damn time..."

Steve shuddered as his grip nearly dug into the bench's wooden supports; a long growl-moan seemed to pour out from his lungs as he felt the hilt of Barton's cock press against his hard butt cheeks. The pleasure seemed to flow through his nerves like liquid electricity coursing out from that epicenter of stretching and filling between his glutes.  
"Holy shit, Clint..." he grunted out; he couldn't form any further words.

As the younger man steadied his breathing, he cast his gaze downward and took in the sight of his hardon buried deep between the jockstrap-framed globes; he licked his lips slowly as his smirk began to reassert itself more with each passing moment. _Now that's a good idea_ he thought to himself with an inner tone of mischief as his hands slid down from Steve's back, around the soldier's hips, and further towards the straps beneath each mound of solid muscle. His fingers took hold of the elastic as he leaned down and whispered into the taller blond's ear;  
"How about I hold onto these as I pound your ass, old man?" 

Rogers almost shuddered as he felt the words burrow into his ear; the anticipation make his skin feel tingly all over. The Captain coaxed a warm smile from himself as he turned his head towards Clint's face.  
"I was thinking the same thing, soldier," he responded without any hesitation. 

Barton wasted no time; he smoothly and swiftly withdrew half of his cock from Steve's ass before he pushed back in firmly. With each cycle the length of his strokes grew; with each inward thrust into Steve he took a step towards climax. His grip on the elder man's jockstrap grew tighter. Preseed freely spilled from his shaft and into the Super-Soldier's body.  
"You're loving it, huh Rogers?" he asked in a cocky tone laced with exertion.

"Hell yes!" Steve almost yelled as Hawkeye's smooth, precise pace shot wave after wave of pleasure deep into his brain. His cock strained defiantly against the pouch of his jock; Clint's pulling eventually shifted the fabric just enough to let his hardon pop out the side. He pushed back into the marksman's motions as he gritted his teeth. Precum beaded at the head of his now-freed manhood as he felt the edge get closer and closer with every single thrust.  
"Don't stop, Barton," he breathlessly demanded , "so goddamn close.."

The call-and-response of ragged gasps, grunts of exertion and moans of pleasure peppered with curses (mostly Barton's) eventually reached their end as Hawkeye rammed home one final time into the rhythmic clenching of Steve's hot hole; the Captain's body seemed to shudder whilst Clint's muscles appeared to tense up like steel cables being stretched. They both simultaneously shouted as they hit climax; shockwaves of ecstasy blasted outward from their loins and through their veins as Barton unloaded in Steve and the elder man shot across the bench. 

Several moments had passed but the archer hadn't released his grip on Rogers' jockstrap yet; he bent down and whispered into the soldier's ear.  
"So, old man," he began quietly as his grin crept across his lips, "up for round two?" 

\---

Several minutes later, Clint lay back on his own bed and felt his shaft stir again as Steve's palm rubbed it slowly through the pouch of his jockstrap. A brief moan escaped his lips as he sprawled his limbs out and met the elder man's equally-blue gaze; Steve smiled at him warmly.  
"I'm starting to see the fun in this, Cap," he said with a lazy smirk as he briefly raised his hips and pressed into Rogers' touch.

"I'm glad to hear it," the elder man replied as he looked over the rebellious marksman's form; he beheld the popping veins on sinewy arms, six-pack abs and the spiky golden hair against Barton's purple sheets. He kept stroking the rapidly-swelling pouch of Clint's jockstrap as he brought the already-lubed fingers of his spare hand to the cleft of the younger man's ass.

The sharpshooter arched his back as his lips parted; he groaned and half-closed his eyes as he felt the Captain's digits carefully push past his entrance. The other man's ministrations slid against his sweet spot as they moved deeper within him. The slow stretch between his glutes intensified as he felt a third finger spread him wider; his hands clamped around Steve's biceps as his breaths deepened.  
"God damn, Rogers," he said with flushed cheeks and wide pupils, "get me ready for your cock..."

The Captain didn't respond immediately; he concentrated on each precise movement he used to prepare the archer. Only when he felt the surrounding tension abate did he begin to slide his digits out one by one.  
"Alright Barton," Steve said softly as he smiled at the archer and coated his hardon with the remaining lube; his other hand remained in contact with the straining fabric of Clint's pouch. He kept rubbing the younger man's tented jock as he positioned the head of his shaft between the archer's rock-hard ass cheeks. Slowly his hips began to drift forward and his achingly-hard maleness breached Clint's hole.

"Fuuuuck yeaaaahhh" Clint groaned slowly, stretching the words out as his eyes rolled back into his skull. His knuckles went white as he kept ahold of the Captain's upper arms. The crown of his shaft felt like it was trying to drill through the slightly coarse cloth confines of the jockstrap as his ass was progressively opened and filled; pressure and heat advanced deeper inside him with each passing second. The throbbing pressure in the roots of his loins seemed to be focus of every nerve ending in his body. As he finally felt the soldier's hips press against his glutes, he refocused his glance; Steve's handsome, square-jawed face looked into his eyes with that same warm, confident smile as always. 

"Do you have any idea how incredible you look right now, son?" Steve rhetorically asked as his right hand continued to massage the marksman's manhood through the fabric. The rigid throbbing of his cock seemed to increase with each second he remained surrounded by the clenching, molten heat of Barton's body. His left palm bore his weight as he felt preseed begin to force its way out of his hardon. The frantic percussion of his heartbeat intensified as he felt the younger man's hole tighten around his shaft.  
"Are you ready for more, soldier?" he asked in a soothing tone. 

"Always," Clint responded almost breathlessly as he shot a cocky grin towards the Captain. His lips then opened as he let out a groan; the elder man's cock slowly withdrew from him, granting him the pleasure of motion against his prostate yet frustrating him with the sensation of emptiness. The taller man's inward stroke vanquished that frustration with a surge of ecstatic fullness that raced through what seemed like every cell in his body. As Steve continued moving in and out of him, he felt his skin grow hotter; each inhale he made grew more frantic as every passing second seemed to further submerge him into an ocean of adrenaline and endorphins. Steve's thrusts grew faster, and Clint pushed himself back into each one. His precum soothed the friction of his cockhead against the jockstrap, but only slightly.  
"Fuck, Rogers," he rasped through his clenched teeth, "keep at it old man..."

The soldier's muscles heaved and strained as he kept moving inward and outward; his thrusts were firm but smooth, with a pace optimized to give Clint time to relish each motion. The burning need in the depths of his loins only grew with each passing second; the fire was stoked every time he buried himself back inside the marksman's ass. His own breaths were ragged gasps as he powered onward. He curled his toes and tensed his jaw but the horizon of climax only grew closer. The fingertips which were massaging Clint's jockstrap pouch felt the slight dampness of the younger man's preseed; immediately he pulled the fabric aside and freed Hawkeye's shaft from its confines. His grip encircled Barton's manhood and pumped it in time with each plunge he made into the younger man's hole.  
"Jesus... shit..." he forced from his lungs, "not much longer.." Barely any seconds later he plowed back inside Barton and let out a loud groan as Hawkeye's entrance clamped around his hardon once more; he closed his eyes yet stars seemed to flash across his vision as convulsions of pleasure overtook him.

The fullness in his ass, the tension in his prostate and the nearly-uncomfortable hardness of his now-freed manhood all seemed to merge into one incessant hunger that could no longer be denied; the sudden bursts of Rogers' hot seed into him catapulted him over the edge. His grip around the soldier's biceps tightened as he felt the pulsating shocks blast outward from that core of aching pleasure within him and ravage his entire nervous system.  
"Fuck!" he roared as he shot his load over his washboard abs; his body quaked beneath the soldier's shuddering torso. The rush washed over him, obliterating his inner monologue for one moment, before it died down and left him gasping for air.

\---

A few minutes and tissues later, both men lay back on the archer's bed; their muscled chests rose and fell as scattered droplets of sweat glistened on their skin. Finally, they were both completely undressed.  
 _Now he'll be willing to come clean about it_ Clint thought. _We just had amazing sex where I indulged one of his kinks. It would be just plain rude for him to refuse to spill the goods after that_.  
"Fuck, that was fun," he said as he exhaled and stretched. He rolled up onto his side and looked over the expansive terrain of Steve's perfect torso. He noticed the contented and fond smile Steve directed towards him.

"It was, son," the soldier responded. "Would you be willing to do this again some time?"

Clint smirked and flashed a thumbs-up. "Anytime, Steve. I wanna ask you something a bit personal, if that's okay."

"Go ahead," Steve said as his voice slightly firmed. _Its about... that kink, isn't it?_ the Captain thought to himself as he felt an anxiety settle in the base of his stomach. _I'm still the same man_ he wanted to say, but he remained silent.

"So... the DVDs..." Clint asked as the familiar blush crept up Steve's face. "What they were about. Why?"

"I... Clint I..." he stammered a bit. _Remain calm, soldier. You don't know what he thinks yet. He's not going to hate you._ "I'm not sure I understand the question."

"The fratboy thing. What's the appeal to you? Are you into the bad boy getting punished thing?"

"No!" Steve immediately exclaimed with wide eyes. "Not at all!" He'd seen and read about countless spankings like that; all he saw were the bullies and those that refused to stand up for themselves or didn't believe themselves worthy to stand up for.

Clint cocked his brow, suddenly unsure. "So... well... what's the appeal then?"

Steve rolled up onto his own side and looked the slightly shorter man directly in the eye. The embarrassed scarlet drained from his face as he began to speak in a deliberate manner.  
"Its... not easy to explain," he began falteringly as he dropped his gaze. "But, well, 'fraternity' means brotherhood. The real ones, and most of the ones you see in the videos, more often than not they're gangs of bullies."

His eyes rose back towards Clint's, filled with the familiar determination. As he continued, his syllables came more surely.  
"There are exceptions... perhaps many. But even so, bullies don't understand brotherhood. Brothers are your peers, those you stand beside and respect.. a bully only knows predators and prey. They don't deserve brotherhood."

Clint remembered his brother by blood. _The backstabber_ he thought. _He never stood beside me. Steve always has_. He nodded at the elder man in a signal to continue.

"I... well, I was an only child and didn't have many friends when I was young. After the serum they only respected an image... propaganda. I was called a 'scrappy brat' when I was five feet, but suddenly was seen as a 'natural leader' after the serum. There were bullies all through the ranks, enlisted and officer; the good men were few and far between in a world that wanted perfect soldiers." He shook his head as his voice slowed down.

"Keep going," Clint asked quietly as he laid a palm on Steve's upper arm. "I'm listening, man."

"The way I see things and do things... its not like in films like Animal House. I don't give or take it hard; I'm not a sadomasochist. Its not about punishment or degradation or humiliation or proving yourself useful to the group. Its... its how I think a fraternity that really lived up to that name would be. Brothers build each other up, not tear each other down. They're honored, not threatened, by each other's talents and strengths. A brotherhood of men should be the opposite of a pack of wolves."

The archer remembered every time they lay together, how Steve seemed to get off on stroking his ego with endless pep talks. _Building me up_ he thought as he remembered what the serum did to Steve. He felt his own heartbeat quicken again as the elder man's words seemed to echo in his mind like proclamations. He barely remembered that Steve was trying to explain a spanking fetish. At that moment he felt a compulsion to hug the Captain but didn't know where that came from.

But the Captain moved first; Steve's arms surrounded Clint's torso and pulled the younger man towards his body.  
"And ever since HYDRA Island, you've been like a brother to me," he said into Clint's ear. 

The younger man felt a lump in his throat as he accepted the embrace; the ridges and valleys of their torsos ground against each other. The elevated heat of Steve's body sank into his own. His own biceps swelled as his arms encircled the soldier.  
"Feeling's mutual," he said almost breathlessly as he felt a sudden stab of affection and happiness in the center of his chest that he'd feel embarrassed to confess to under any other circumstance.

"I... think that's sort of a tangent but... does that make sense? Why I have this kink?"  
"Y..yeah," Clint replied, even though he couldn't exactly verbalize his own understanding of how it made sense. Yet the conflicts and confusions in his emotions had ceased. 

Steve backed away from Clint. He met the sharpshooter's equally blue gaze and fondly smiled at the smirking face. The camaraderie he felt at that moment eclipsed any he had experienced during the War. 

"I'm glad you know what its about, with me at least," Steve said in a warm and assured tone. He sat up and placed his feet on the carpeted floor. "I need to go with Tony to a fundraiser tonight... but thanks Barton."

Clint kept grinning as he stretched out on his bed. "Anytime, Rogers," he replied as he watched Steve pick up one of the fluffy white bathrobes on the door to his ensuite. He knew Steve would have it back to him within an hour.

"Say, Clint..." Steve began as a he looked back at the naked archer on the bed. "Would you ever be interested?" he asked with a slight nervousness on his face and hint of hope in his tone. "In trying the frat thing out, I mean," he quickly added as his cheeks pinkened slightly. 

Clint paused for a second. He remembered some of the lashings he got from his father. He remembered those times when Swordsman or Trickshot punched him. None of that even remotely approached a turn on. He sighed a bit as he looked away from the super soldier.  
"Well, I know the punishment shit is a total cock block," he replied. But then a small, uncharacteristically nervous smile asserted itself on his face. "But what you're talking about... you make it sound almost... nice."

Steve grinned with hope and gratitude. _Thank you_ he thought to anyone that might be listening. _He doesn't think its wrong or twisted or sick or anything.. he gets it_.

"Can't make promises, old man," Hawkeye continued as his lips reverted back to their usual cocky smirk, "but I'll think about it." _Its still a bit weird but... I'll think about it_.  
 **End of Part 1**


	2. Part 2

"Welcome to the new and improved Stark Tower," Tony announced as he led the rest of the Avengers into the common floor. A large inlaid Avengers logo sat on the gleaming terrazzo floor. A very long bar held a monumental number and variety of liquor bottles, including some which cost more than what most people earned in one year. And on three sides of the room were walls of plate glass providing multiple unobstructed views of Manhattan.

Clint whistled appreciatively as he walked around the floor. Ever since the defeat of Galactus, Tony had been telling the rest of the team about the plans for Stark Tower; _we all get our own floor. Awesome!_

On the other side of the room, Steve remained quiet but had a wry smile on his face. He remembered the conversation he had with JARVIS a few months back, about certain modifications for his own floor and the purchase of some specific equipment. JARVIS ran the numbers and they came within the project's budget, and the AI promised to have all purchases mailed to pseudonymous accounts and then redirected.

Later, the Captain walked through his floor of Avengers Tower and grinned when he saw the package resting atop the kitchenette's counter. It may have been inconspicuously wrapped in plain brown paper but he knew what lay in the box inside. He opened the wrapping carefully, not tearing the packaging, and a few minutes later withdrew the item contained within.

The item was a long paddle made mostly from a pale-colored wood. The surface was polished and had the Greek letters Sigma, Delta and Sigma inlaid with a dark-colored wood. He held it up and also to the side, testing the balance of the weight. He lightly swung it back and forth before smiling in satisfaction. _The first of many. Good workmanship, too_ he thought. _I can't wait until the shirts arrive_.

\---

Clint lifted the lid off the light gray cardboard box; inside, a card rested atop a sheet of tissue paper sealed with a sticker. The archer picked up the card,

_Clint,_

_If and when you're ready to try this out, wear this and your jockstrap when you visit my floor. Consider it a standing invitation._

_Don't feel pressured to try this out if you don't want to! Its just an offer. Keep the shirt either way... I think you'll look handsome in it._

_-Steve_

Barton smiled as he ripped at the tissue paper. Beneath sat a medium-gray t-shirt with the Greek letters Sigma, Delta and Sigma printed across the chest in blue.  
_Aww, shucks Rogers_ he thought to himself snarkily, _you shouldn't have!_

He quickly pulled his own shirt off and cast it over the back of the couch before he removed the new garment from the box. He slid it over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. The fabric seemed to grip at his body; _just that little bit too small, huh?_ The marksman turned towards his reflection on the tinted glass wall and grinned before flexing his biceps; _holy shit this makes my guns look hot!_ He then looked down towards his body and saw the way the shirt seemed to adhere itself to every bulge of every muscle of his torso.

_Actually, the size is perfect. Just perfect._

_Sure, Steve's kink is kinda weird. But..._ he paused for a few seconds, unable to complete that thought. 

He cast his mind back to the elder man's words as they lay together when he first asked the soldier to explain the appeal. _How the hell did he make it sound so goddamn cuddly?_

\---

From: WorldsGreatestMarksman@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com  
To: SteveGRogers@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com

I want to talk about it.

Just talk about it. 

About that whole kinky fratboy stuff. Alright?

-C

\---

From: SteveGRogers@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com  
To: WorldsGreatestMarksman@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com

Clint,

Of course we can talk about it. I'm not trying to pressure you one way or another. If you don't want to try this stuff out, that's fine, I'm absolutely happy with doing what we're already doing.

The door's always open to talk, if you'd like.

-Steve

p.s. I've attached something which you might want to read. It may answer some of your questions.

(Attachment: SigmaDeltaSigma.rtf)

\---

After Clint opened the file, it wasn't long before he rose an eyebrow. And then a second one.  
_Talk about "the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan." This is a plan alright..._

The full title of the document read "Sigma Delta Sigma: Constitution, Bylaws and Procedures." It extended to several pages in length; most of the document concerned itself with ( _surprise_ ) the various paddling sessions involved, but just as the elder man said before there was nothing related to punishment. 

_So he's got custom shirts... a whole blueprint for a sick roleplay frat... and from this document it looks like there's enough props and set design to make all the movies under his bed five times over. Looks like he puts as much heart into this as he puts into everything else he does..._

The thought made his pulse quicken although he wasn't sure whether that was a sign of being turned on or worried. His palm moved the mouse again and he clicked the "compose" button.

\---

From: WorldsGreatestMarksman@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com  
To: SteveGRogers@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com 

Next time we talk can you be... well... kind of how you are when you're doing this stuff? 

You know what I mean.

-C

\---

From: SteveGRogers@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com  
To: WorldsGreatestMarksman@AvengersInitiative.StarkIndustries.com

Clint,

You mean be 'in character' when we talk about it? Sure.

Whenever you're ready, soldier.

-Steve

\---

The archer walked down the hallways of Steve's floor of the tower, but not with his typically cocky strut; the sensation of the seat of his jeans clinging to his exposed ass-cheeks only made him feel more vulnerable. _At least I look as hot as usual_ he thought as he looked down at the Sigma Delta Sigma shirt that hugged every sinew and bulge of his body. 

Finally he came to the door to Steve's bedroom. He paused momentarily and took a breath before his knuckles rapped against the panel. 

The Captain opened the door and stood there in Sigma Delta Sigma shirt of his own that seemed to stretch over every single contour of his pecs. A warm smile rested on his face as he met Clint's gaze.  
"I knew that would look so handsome on you, Barton," he began as he placed his palm over the archer's broad shoulder. 

Normally, Clint would've arrogantly smirked and said thanks, knowing full well how handsome he was, but at this moment he had no idea what to say; the nervous churning in his gut seemed to block out his ability to formulate a response.

"Are you alright?" Steve immediately asked.

"Just a little nervous," Clint confessed as he tried to focus on the feel of Steve's reassuring clasp of his shoulder. His smile remained half-hearted.

"I don't have any expectations about this son," Steve replied softly. "We can just talk about it. If its not your thing, that's okay. Frankly I'm flattered you're willing to even consider this."

Clint exhaled, almost reluctantly. "Alright... I'll hear the sales pitch," he said, not sure if he really was as hesitant as he sounded. 

The Captain then smiled and wrapped an arm around the archer's shoulders, drawing the younger man into an half-hug as he stepped out of his bedroom and began to return to the lounge. 

The marksman couldn't help but grin at Steve's comradely embrace as they both walked down the hall; the warmth around his back and shoulders seemed to still the stirring in his stomach for a time. Finally the soles of their footwear began to land on the polished wooden floor of the expansive living room; Clint quickly slid onto the couch while Steve stood in front of it, as if ready to deliver a speech.

"Okay old man, hit me. Metaphorically," Clint said as he leaned back and forced a smug smirk.

The soldier smiled back fondly as he chuckled. Sure, he could impress and convince a crowd, but back in the day it was merely a show; _a fake suit, a fake Hitler, a fake image constructed entirely of the kind of propaganda that would make Goebbels blush..._ Now, even though the Greek letters emblazoned across his chest were for a fictional organization, he felt completely genuine. His pecs rose as he took a breath and kept his eyes fixed on the identical blue of the younger man's.

"Sigma Delta Sigma is a true brotherhood," Steve began as he spoke in a clear tone of announcement which lacked any harsh edge. "Its based on a genuine bond between worthy, admirable men. There is no bullying, no degradation and no brutishness here. All paddlings go both ways and while they aren't hard they're long and thorough. But you'll learn to want each swat, Barton. You'll be encouraged to take it and get off on what it means between us." His tone then softened as he concluded; "I already said you're like a brother to me Clint. This.. this makes it official."

The archer's heart slammed against his ribcage with the regularity of machine-gun fire; his mouth felt dry and his jeans felt tighter. _Holy fuck how the hell did that sound so hot?_ he wondered as the blood in his veins began to simmer and drift downwards. His eyes were wide as he finally realized that he _wanted_ what Steve was offering. His manhood began to struggle against the confining pouch of the jockstrap he wore beneath the denim as his breaths deepened.  
"I'll do it," Clint blurted out rapidly, "c'mon Steve," he continued as he stood up and walked towards the Captain, "I'm sampling the goods right now. Hurry up, before I change my mind."

Rogers smiled both in satisfaction and gratitude as he embraced Barton again and held the younger man's granite-hard chest against his own; he could feel the younger man's pulse thumping even through the shirts.  
"Thank you, soldier..." he said almost breathlessly, "thank you so, so much," _for understanding it, for getting it.. for getting what it means to me..._

"My room, Brother Clint," Steve then said with a wry smirk on his face. 

\---

The door to Steve's bedroom opened and the marksman saw what looked like a padded sawhorse sitting on the floor. A light-colored wooden fraternity paddle with the appropriate Greek letters hung on the wall directly in front of the cushioned bench. He could practically hear the blood rushing through his body as he walked inside; the elder man kept a hand on his broad shoulder.

"Alright Barton," Steve said in a quiet but steady voice as his hand left Hawkeye's body, "you know what to do. And don't worry; if you ever want to stop this for any reason, tell me and I'll stop."

"Will do, old man," Clint responded as he reached for his jeans and began to unfasten the button and the zipper. His fingertips remained as steady as always yet moved more tentatively than usual; the zipper descended slowly as he took in breath. As he lowered his pants he felt the air against his bare cheeks. After stepping out of the denim, he walked towards the sawhorse; he carefully leaned over it and rested his shirt-covered torso along the padded beam. The frat paddle was only about a foot away from his eyes; _relax, it'll be okay, its Steve for god's sake..._

 _Jesus, I'll never tire of this view_ the Captain thought to himself as he watched the muscles in Clint's thighs shift beneath the younger man's skin as Barton took position. He felt the pouch of his own jock grow tighter as the seconds passed; he walked up towards the wall and took the paddle down. _He's had a good look at it_ he thought as he strode back to Clint's hindquarters and let his gaze wander across the archer's rock-hard bubble-shaped glutes.  
"If you decide to pledge, Barton," Steve began in a comforting tone, "this is going to happen a lot. So tonight I'm going to show you what you're in for. I know you're nervous now, Clint, but at Sigma Delta Sigma we're proud to take our swats."

The former circus performer took in a shaky breath as Steve's words raced through his brain. His grip on the bench's front legs was white-knuckled. His pulse seemed to be pushing into hummingbird rates; it only grew faster as he felt Steve slide the cool, smooth wooden surface of the paddle against his bare ass.  
"Are you ready for your first paddling, son?" he heard Steve ask. About a second later he nodded.  
"Ready as I'll ever be, Brother Steve."

The elder man smiled at the honorific Clint had granted him; his spare hand reached out to stroke Barton's spine.  
"Good man," he said as he drew back his arm. The swelling of his right bicep stretched the fabric of the shirt. His brow momentarily furrowed in concentration as he prepared to deliver the first swat. Finally he swung the paddle forward and downward; the impact landed right on target. 

Clint grit his teeth and a loud crack bounced off the walls, yet the flash of sting that raced through his nerves didn't feel too sharp. A heat began to spread across the surface of his ass cheeks in the aftermath of the hit. His breathing deepened as he felt adrenaline begin to trickle into his bloodstream; the hairs on his forearms began to stand on end as he pondered the next swat...

"You want the next one, soldier?" Steve asked in a low and steady voice as he felt the head of his cock push into the fabric of his jockstrap with more determination. His arm pulled the paddle back in preparation.

"Hell yeah," the marksman replied breathlessly. 

The elder blond almost grinned; _I'm a lucky man_. He swung the wooden board again.

The impact raced through his body like a shockwave rippling through his skin; the sting at the epicenter seemed to recede quickly but the heat stayed constant. The third swat collided with his glutes then; he let out a slight hiss as his grip on the bench tightened. He could feel his manhood begin to twitch inside the pouch of his jock.

The Captain watched the pink glow spread across Barton's rock-hard ass. He smiled in satisfaction before he once again slid the board's smooth, polished surface across the younger man's slightly-warmed cheeks.  
"You're doing a great job, Brother Clint," the taller blond said in a soothing near-whisper. "I think you'll enjoy pledging," he added as his smile became a little wry.

Barton inhaled as he felt the cool surface of the frat paddle be withdrawn. _Jesus, I think he's right..._ he thought momentarily before another swat echoed throughout the room; a grunt of exertion was forced from his lungs as the force shot into his brain left more heat in its wake. Another stroke followed only a moment later and drew a gasp from the marksman.  
"..Enjoying it already, old man," he pushed out of his mouth as he turned his head and flashed a cocky smirk towards Rogers. _Even holding a paddle he looks so damn friendly..._

The taller blond's smile never wavered; he lined up the board for the next swats. The first impact collided with Clint's glutes, followed by the second. He watched as the younger man's muscles tensed and then released in rhythm with the strikes.  
"Its a real honor to give this to you, son," he said before he swung the board against the archer's butt another time. He watched the as the firm flesh grew a more solid shade of pink before it began to darken slightly.

The Captain's paddle continued to be laid into his ass; each of the steadily-paced swats seemed to make Barton breathe faster. His inhales and exhales came roughly as each stinging shock pushed his blood supply even more swiftly through his veins. The heat on the skin of his rump neared sweltering as each stinging strike seemed to send sensation just that little bit deeper than the last one did. His now-rigid shaft strained between the bench and his pouch as the impacts continued fall on him; each collision seemed to raise the energy coursing through his synapses yet somehow didn't cross the line into true pain. A bead of sweat fell down his face.  
"Its.. fuck, its an honor... to take it.." he managed to wrench out of himself even through a clenched jaw.  
"Please... Brother Steve, more..."

"You're taking it like a champ, Brother Clint," he said gently as he used his spare hand to stroke through Barton's hair. His own breaths were not as rapid as the younger man's, yet his heart still slammed against the wall of his ribcage. A small ache arose in his arm then, and he ceased delivering swats; the surface of the paddle returned to the soothing slides against the archer's glutes.

"That was incredible, soldier," the Captain whispered into his ear as he felt the smooth grain of the wood stroke gently across his butt-cheeks. His inhales were frantic, roughened gasps as his pulse began to stabilize.  
"Whoa..." he exhaled. "That... felt... pretty good..." he continued as rudiments of amazement began to unfurl in his tone; _and not just physically..._ When he began to move his legs to gain a footing, the limbs felt like they were made from lead. 

Steve offered a hand up to the younger man; he nodded as he felt Clint's long fingers take his grip.  
"It absolutely was, Barton," he said in a solid, warm timbre. "So, when you've recovered," he said as he pointed the paddle's handle towards the sharpshooter, "its your turn. I'll tell you everything you need to know." 

\---

He couldn't help but have a smirk on his face as he watched the elder man take position over the bench; he watched as the Captain's thigh muscles heaved and tensed beneath the skin. He licked his lips at the sight of Rogers' glutes bordered by the tight white elastic of the jock. As he held the paddle in his hand, the implement almost began to feel heavier as he contemplated what was about to occur. 

Steve turned his head back towards Barton; the elder man's face bore the same easy and confident smile he always had for the archer.  
"You know what to do, Hawkeye," he stated with neither wavering nor hesitation. "Lay it on me, Brother Clint," he said before his head returned to a forward-facing position. His pulse accelerated as he awaited the first stroke. 

The first collision of wood against Steve's ass caused the elder man's brow to furrow and grip to tighten; the brief flash of sting raced through his body and receded into the familiar sensation of warmth. He could feel the perfectly-even distribution of the strike, and smiled wryly in reaction; _on target every goddamn time_.  
"I knew you'd be talented at this, Barton. Don't stop," the elder man stated as he steadied his breathing. A deep throbbing asserted itself in the roots of his steel-hard manhood.

Clint's gaze picked up the very faint pinkening of the soldier's bubble-shaped glutes; he couldn't help but smile at Steve's words. He lifted the board another time and brought it down just like before; the sharp crack raced through the air. He watched as every muscle and ligament in the elder's body tensed at the impact, only to relax moments after. Again he raised the paddle before he delivered the next swat; he heard the Captain let out a short groan in response.

The steady-building heat on his ass cheeks grew with every successive swat; Steve's breaths grew louder as his pulse accelerated. His wide jaw clenched slightly with each impact and the friction of the pouch of his jockstrap against his cock only seemed to intensify... He made a slightly-hissing intake of breath through his teeth as the cooling sensation of the paddle's surface against his ass moved through his nerves.

"I was thinking, old man," Clint asked with a wide smirk as he began to slide the edge of the frat paddle between Rogers' cheeks, "are you gonna be my Big Bro or my Pledgemaster?" _Fuck, the fact he takes it even with those titles makes them hotter..._ he thought as he observed the even spread of color across the elder man's backside. The aching hardness in his shaft and remaining soreness in his butt seemed like they were melting and mingling together into the same sensation.

"We'll fix the bylaws if I can't be both," the larger blond replied with exertion evident in his tone. "And god, it'll be an honor to be both of those for you," he concluded with an oath's solemnity. 

_Goddamn that voice could convince me the Brooklyn Bridge is for sale_ he thought as he raised the board another time.  
"Just as much," he said before the paddle landed once more on Steve's firm ass, squarely on the left cheek, "as taking these swats is," he continued as he delivered another impact to the steadily-reddening right glute, "right Rogers?" Another collision of wood against flesh rang out through the room and landed perfectly upon both globes of muscle.

Each time the paddle hit its target, the Captain let out a quiet grunt. His heart rate continued to climb as each jolt of sting raced through his synapses before fading into the steady-building heat. The pink-red glow of his ass continued to intensify, and every single syllable spoken by the younger man only made Rogers want Barton to continue. He turned his head back to Clint; his face had reddened almost as much as his ass.  
"That's the spirit, soldier!" he declared in a solid, encouraging voice as he smiled proudly; _Hawkeye meant every word of that_. "Keep going, son," he managed to push out of his lungs before he sucked in more air. The elder man spread his broad thighs wider and raised his butt just a bit further.

The near uncomfortable confines of his jock-pouch only seemed to grow tighter as he watched the taller blond's motions. The sharpshooter lined the board up again; his veiny, sinewy arm moved with a near-robotic precision yet a fluidity only possible to flesh. His bicep bulged as he drew his limb back, and the seconds began to pass.

The impact of the wooden surface against the Captain's glutes seemed to make every muscle in his body tense; the grip of his hands around the legs of the bench only tightened as he felt that shockwave race through his hard flesh. Another swat descended onto his ass; the heat seemed to reach a near-simmering level. Further strikes of the paddle rang out into the room as Rogers felt even more adrenaline accelerate his pulse. Another crack echoed off the walls; his brow furrowed at the sting but afterwards he felt the surface of the implement again slide across his reddened cheeks. His gasps for breath were the loudest sound in the room for that moment as the contact of the wood against his butt felt like the only cool sensation against any of his skin. The respite ceased with the landing of the board one more time against his rump, followed quickly by another.  
"Jesus, Barton, you're a goddamn natural!" he declared in a voice louder than the swats.

As the steadily-paced collisions continued, a soreness gradually arose in Clint's arm; _I can't have my right arm out of commission_ he thought to himself with a slight smirk. With his free hand, he wiped a drop of sweat from his brow.  
"Alright Steve," he said between deep breaths as he lowered the paddle and held it at his side, "I think that's enough. So how did I do?" He already had a good idea of what the taller blond's response would be, but he'd never get tired of hearing it from the man's lips. When the elder's exhaustedly-smiling face turned towards him, he had all the confirmation he needed.  
_Bullseye. As usual_.

\---

Both men lay on their backs atop the blue sheets of the Captain's bed. Their muscled chests rose and fell almost in sync with each other. Their arms sat against one another and shared body heat.

Clint could feel his hardon begin to subside slightly; _I guess we'll be taking care of that in the shower after_ he thought. The deep, throbbing heat in his butt cheeks was blended with an ache reminiscent of how he felt after a workout.  
"How the hell did you make that feel so good, Rogers?" 

Steve turned his head towards Clint and smiled; the heat and slight soreness in his own ass kept his endorphin level high. His heart continued to thump firmly as he placed his hand on the younger man's shirt-covered shoulder.  
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I guess that means you'll pledge?"

Clint looked into the identically-blue eyes of the Captain and smirked.  
"Count me in, old man," he said confidently.

Steve's grin remained in place as he chuckled and his head went back to looking at the ceiling. He imagined what the future held for them both; _better than any of those porno discs_ he mused.

A moment passed.

"Well neither of us went to college" Steve said in a casual but slightly-awkward manner. A second of silence passed.

The younger man's laughter suddenly broke through the quiet; he quickly wrapped his arms around the soldier's torso. 

Steve began to laugh as well as he felt Hawkeye's limbs around his chest. He returned the embrace. _Like a brother to me_.

**The End**


End file.
